3523 


Loving 
The  Stick-Up 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


THE 

STICK-UP 


BY 


PIERRE  LOVING 


STEWART  KIDD 

MODERN  PLAYS 

EDITED  BY 
FRANK  SHAY 


Stewart  Kidd  Dramatic  Anthologies 

CONTEMPORARY  ONE-ACT  PLAYS  OF 
AMERICAN 

Edited  by  FRANK  SHAY 

THIS  volume  represents  a  careful  and  intelligent  selection  of 
the  best  One-act  Plays  written  by  Americans  and  produced 
by  the  Little  Theatres  in  America  during  the  season  of  ion. 
They  are  representative  of  the  best  work  of  writers  in  this  field 
and  show  the  high  level  to  which  the  art  theatre  has  risen  in 
America. 

The  editor  has  brought  to  his  task  a  love  of  the  theatre  and 
a  knowledge  of  what  is  best  through  long  association  with  the 
leading  producing  groups. 

The  volume  contains  the  repertoires  of  the  leading  Little 
Theatres,  together  with  bibliographies  of  published  plays  and 
books  on  the  theatre  issued  since  January,  1910, 

Aside  from  its  individual  importance,  the  volume,  together 
with  Fifty  Contemporary  One-Act  Plays,  will  make  up  the 
most  important  collection  of  short  plays  published. 

In  the  Book  are 
the  following  Plays  by  the  following  Authors 

Mirage George  M.  P.  Baird 

Napoleon's  Barber Arthur  Caesar 

Goat  Alley Ernest  Howard  Culbertson 

Sweet  and  Twenty Floyd  Dell 

Tickless  Time Susan  Glaspell  and  George  Cram  Cook 

The  Hero  of  Santa  Maria Kenneth  Sawyer  Goodman  and 

Ben  Hecht 

All  Gummed  Up Harry  Wagstaff  Cribble 

Thompson's  Luck Harry  Greenwood  Grover 

Fata  Deorum Carl  W.  Guske 

Pearl  of  Dawn Holland  Hudson 

Finders-Keepers George  Kelly 

Solomon's  Song Harry  Kemp 

Matinata Lawrence  Langner 

The  Conflict Clarice  Vallette  McCauley 

Two  Slatterns  and  a  King Edna  St.  Vincent  Millay 

Thursday  Evening Christopher  Morley 

The  Dreamy  Kid Eugene  O'Neill 

Forbidden  Fruit George  J.  Smith 

Jezebel Dorothy  Stockbridge 

Sir  David  Wears  a  Crown Stuart  Walker 

izmo.    Silk  Cloth  $3.75 
}4  Turkey  Morocco  $10.00 


STEWART  KIDD  MODERN  PLAYS 

Edited  by  Frank  Shay 


THE  STICK-UP 


THE  STICK-UP 


A  Rough-Neck  Fantasy 


By 

PIERRE  LOVING 


CINCINNATI 
STEWART  KIDD  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT,   1922,  BY 

STEWART  KIDD  COMPANY 


All  rights  reserved 


The  professional  and  amateur  stage  rights  to  THE  STICK-UP 

are  strictly  reserved  by  the  author.     Application  for  permission 

to  produce  this  play  should  be  made  to  Pierre  Loving,  in  care  of 

Stewart  Kidd  Company,  Cincinnati,  Ohio 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 
THE  CAXTON  PRESS 


PERSONS : 

COWCATCHER  } 

PETE  I  Train  Robbers 

KID 


THE  STICK-UP  was  originally  produced  by  the 
Provincetown  Players,  New  York,  January  9,  1922 


1109211 


THE  STICK-UP 


Time:  Eternity 

Place:  Inside  the  Orbit  of  Uranos. 

The  atmosphere  is  pervaded  by  fold  on  fold  of 
mist-blue  shadow.  Blinking  lights  flash  out  now 
and  again.  There  is  a  sense  of  wandering 
distance. 


Cowcatcher ',  Pete  and  Kid  emerge,  half  stagger 
ing,  half  lurching^  out  of  the  cloudy  background, 
rubbing  their  eyes  and  clutching  at  space  with  the 
desperation  of  drowning  men. 

Cowcatcher  is  tall,  hulking,  loose-limbed,  with 
the  broad  brow  and  aquiline  face  of  one  who  is 
much  given  to  dreaming,  on  occasions  to  com 
manding.  Pete  is  short  and  stocky,  and  marvel 
lously  swift  in  his  movements;  his  eyes  are  quick 
and  restless  and  his  hands  seem  always  to  be 
straying  to  touch  something.  Kid  is  thin,  nervous, 
and  ascetic  in  appearance.  He  is  about  twenty- 
three  and  by  no  means  as  small  as  his  sobriquet 
would  indicate,  although  he  is  not  as  tall  as 
Cowcatcher.  Cowcatcher  and  Pete  wear  riding 
boots,  breeches,  and  woolen  shirts.  Kid  wears 
wrap  leggings,  tweed  breeches,  and  a  black  shirt; 
the  latter  is  obviously  a  part  of  a  clerical  make-up. 
7 


THE  STICK-UP 


KID  (stumbling forward) 

Oh.     .     .     .     Oh.     .     I'm   choking.     Mercy, 
mercy,  Lord! 

It's  like  a  hand  made  out  of  hemp  gripped 

Hard  about  my  throat.     (He  coughs.) 
PETE  (to  Cowcatcher) 

Is  that  you,  pardner?    That  you,  Cowcatcher? 

I  dreamed  I  heered  your  voice,  Cowcatcher. 

We've  swum  clean  out  of  it,  I  guess. 

At  last!    It  had  long  fingers,  cool  and  long, 

That  nightmare  had,  like — curled  wet  smoke 

Only  more  thick. 
COWCATCHER  (dazed) 

Pete,  where  are  you? 
PETE 

Here  I  am    .    .    .    here,  old  side-kick, 

And  here's  Kid  too,  all  slick  and  sound, 

With  mighty  little  of  religion  left 

In  him,  I'll  bet. 

COWCATCHER 

Is  this    .....     ? 

PETE 

Hell? 

KID  (cringing) 

Lord,  Lord,  have  mercy  on  us!    (Kneeling.) 
I  cried  by  reason  of  mine  affliction 
Unto  the  Lord,  and  he  heard  me; 
Out  of  the  belly  of  Hell  cried  I, 
And  thou  heardest  my  voice.    .    .    . 

PETE 

My  Gawd!    He's  got  religion  yet. 
It  ain't  enough  he  crammed  his  nut 
Full  of  that  oily  doctrine  all  his  life 
To  be  a  preacher,  but  he  must  harangue 


THE  STICK-UP 


In  this  here  place,  and  after  all 
Wot's  happened  down  below.    .    .    . 
We  ain't  put  in  at  Heaven  or  Hell, 
Not  yet.    But  look  at  them  clean  stars! 

KID 

Pete,  where  are  we?    Cowcatcher? 
COWCATCHER  (with  a  drawl} 

I  dunno  as  yet.    It's  queer. 

We're  near  the  linin'  side  of  worlds,  I  reckon. 

Put  out  your  hand.     (Kid  obeys.) 

Feel  anything? 
KID 

No,  why? 

COWCATCHER 

There  ain't  no  weather  here,  that's  plain: 
No  sun  nor  moon,  no  rain  nor  dew 
No  freshness  of  mornin'  air. 
PETE  (putting  his  hand  out  incredulously) 
Wot's  that?    No  weather  here! 
How  kin  that  be? 

COWCATCHER 

There  just  ain't.    Make  the  best  of  it. 
PETE 

There's  got  to  be  some  weather,  pardner, 
Warm,  cold,  rain,  snow,  shine,  or  something.   .  . 
Well,  wot  about  this  fog? 

COWCATCHER 

It's  here  all  right,  but  kin  you  see  it? 
It's  always  fingerin'  your  gorge 
But  where,  in  Christ's  name,  is  it? 
PETE  (philosophically] 

There's  space  to  budge  in,  ain't  there  now? 

9 


THE  STICK-UP 


Well,  if  there's  space  to  budge  in,  why, 
Things  has  to  happen    .     .     .    weather  has  to 
happen. 

COWCATCHER 

Rot!    Wot  I  want  to  find  out  bad 

Is  wot  we're  doing  here  and  how.     .     .     . 
KID 

How'd  we  get  here,  Cowcatcher? 

When  are  we  going  home? 
PETE  (laughs} 

Home?     Ha!    Ha!     Ha! 

(His  laughter  is  cut  short  by  a  swift-flying  object 
sweeping  past  them.} 

KID  (terror-stricken) 
Lord,  have  pity!    (Kneeling) 

PETE 

Christ,  wot  a  wopper! 
KID  (almost  absentmindedly) 

And  the  angel  sounded  and  there  fell 

A  great  star  from  Heaven  burning.     „    .     . 

COWCATCHER 

A  flyin'  star. 

KID 

Oh,  I'm  afraid.     .     .     , 
PETE 

Slick  bible-monger!    Wot's  he  bawlin'  at? 
He  used  to  be  gol-durned  chipper  once 
When  he  would  turn  his  learnin'  to  a  stick-up 
Or  a  can-openin'  in  a  bank.     (Kicking  Kid) 
Wot's  up,  anyhow? 
The  snifflin'  sky-pilot's  blue-scared 
Of  bunkin'  into  God  by  chance 
While  steerin'  straight  for  Hell. 
10 


THE  STICK-UP 


KID 

No!    No!    Not  Hell! 

Show  us  thy  mercy,  Lord.     (Sobs) 

If  you  believe  in  gentle  Jesus.     .     .     . 
PETE 

Too  late! 
KID 

Pete,  I  don't  want  to  die. 
PETE  (ironically} 

No? 

KID 

God.     ... 

PETE 

You  think  that  you  are  God's 

Own  little  brother,  but  you're  not. 
KID 

He'll  save  me  yet. 
PETE 

From  wot.     ...     to  wot?    (Pause) 

COWCATCHER 

Where's  your  sand,  your  nerve? 

Wot's  happened,  anyway? 

You  don't  have  to  nag  your  brain  to  remember. 

You  was  once  the  finest  stick-up  'prentice 

In  six  or  seven  states. 

Your  bible  dope  was  mighty  in  your  favor 

And  when  you  wanted  to,  you  could  look 

As  innercent 

As  any  new-sheared  lamb. 

Now  don't  you  go  and  lose 

Your  nerve,  see,  for  our  nerve 

Is  all  we  got  in  this  here  game 

Of  lootin'  trains 

Or  bio  win'  boxes. 

ii 


THE  STICK-UP 


PETE  (tO  Kid) 

You're  scared,  maybe, 
That  you're  dead. 
KID 
Dead? 

COWCATCHER 

It  might  as  well  come  out 
Right  now  as  later:  you  are  dead. 
KID  (sobbing) 

No.     No.     The  Lord  will  save  me  yet. 
It's  in  his  sacred  Word,  I  tell  you. 
It  says:  I  will  redeem 
Them  from  the  power  of  the  grave. 
O  Death,  I  will  be  thy  plague; 

0  Grave,  I  will  be  thy  destruction ! 
PETE  (troubled) 

Are  we  dead,  pardner,  honest? 
KID 

How  do  you  know  we're  dead? 
No  one  can  die 
And  afterward  tell  of  it. 

COWCATCHER 

1  ain't  quite  sure  about  you  two. 
You  sort  o'  puzzle  me. 

You  bicker  like  corn  stocks  in  the  wind; 
Your  minds  are  sort  o'  crazed  and  gropin'. 
But  I'm  dead,  Pete.    I  know. 
I  know  because  I  ain't  afraid 
Of  death  no  more. 
PETE  (spitting) 

Your  brain  is  scrambled  or.     ... 
I  dunno    ....    somethin'  worse. 
Suppose  we  ain't  afeered  o'  Death 
Would  that  make  us  any  more  alive? 
12 


THE  STICK-UP 


COWCATCHER 

Are  you  afeered,  Pete? 
PETE  (visibly  shivering) 

Who?   Me?    Bah!  You  knows  me,  Cowcatcher. 
KID 

How  did  we  die,  Cowcatcher? 
PETE 

Maybe  you    .    .    .    you're  alive,  Kiddo, 

Because  you  ain't  got  guts  enough 

To  own  up  that  we're  dead. 

COWCATCHER 

I  remember  how  we  died. 
PETE 

You  do!    Well,  how?    (Pause) 

KID 

If  you  know,  for  God's  sake,  tell  us. 

COWCATCHER 

,  Yes,  I  remember  how  it  was. 
We  was  a-stickin'  up 
A  well-heeled  train  that  raced 
Across  great  yellow  miles  of  corn 
And  wheatfields. 
I  engineered  most  everything 
As  I  always  done. 

Long  before  you  two  come  in  with  me 
I  wanted  one  big  job — 

The  job  that  comes  but  once  in  a  man's  life. 
The  chance  that  I  had  figgered  on 
Came  with  this  here  train. 

One  hundred  thousand  sweet  simoleons  in  gold 
Was  aboard  her.    It  was  man-sized  game, 
The  biggest  game  till  then. 
PETE 

I  think  I  remember  now. 


THE  STICK-UP 


COWCATCHER 

If  we'd  have  got  away  with  all  that  swag  .  .  .  . 
But  wot's  the  use?    We  didn't. 
PETE 

Suppose  we  hadda  got  away  with  it? 

COWCATCHER 

It's  this  way,  Pete. 
If  we  had  blown  with  all  that  swag, 
(Sighs')    .    .    .    Oh,  I  was  homesick  for  a  farm 
I  wanted  to  retire. 
PETE 
Retire? 

COWCATCHER 

Yes,  Pete,  on  a  farm  or  ranch,  maybe. 

A  ranch    .    .    .    that's  it,  and  so  go  back 

To  herdin'  like  I  used  to 

When  I  was  knee-high  to  a  grasshopper. 

You  didn't  know  me  then. 

I  was — well — sorter  strange  and  shy-like  with 

people. 

Or  that's  the  way 
They  used  to  make  me  out. 
But  the  sheep  would  graze  short  grass  about  me; 
The  little  wooly  lambs,  familiar-like, 
Often  they'd  nose  right  in  my  pockets. 
Pete,  this  thing's  in  my  blood 
And  there's  a  million  head  o'  maverick 
A-grazin'  in  my  heart. 
To  settle  on  a  ranch — 
That's  wot  I  wanted  for  to  win 
Out  of  this  game    ...    a  ranch 
Wot  I  could  call  my  own, 
With  title  and  deed,  both  stamped 
Right  through  the  paper  by  the  Justice  o'  Peace. 


THE   STICK-UP 


No  hidin'  from  the  law  this  time, 
No  posse,  trackin*  you  down  with  dogs 
As  knows  your  human  smell.    .    .    . 
No    .    .    .    no.    I  wanted  peace  to  fall 
Like  evenin'  around  me  and  mine. 
I  wanted  to  be  the  boss 
Of  just  a  gang  o'  men 
That  likes  to  work  together 
And  swap  good  yarns  at  evenin', 
About  a  fire.    ...    I  wanted  this, 
But  it  wasn't  to  be.    (Pause) 
PETE 

I  beaded  the  engineer,  didn't  I  ? 

COWCATCHER 

It  wasn't  nobody's  fault. 

I  think  the  State  Police  was  aboard  and  nailed 

us  cold.     .     .     .     (Pause) 
Or  somethin'  hit  us. 
PETE 

So  this  is  dead? 

COWCATCHER 

Yes. 

KID 

Oh,  something  awful's  going  to  happen! 
PETE 

Don't  you  go  bawlin'  all  around  the  desert, 

You  chicken-livered,  buff  coyote! 

You  must  be  still  alive. 
KID  (joyfully) 

You  really  think.    .    .    .     ? 
PETE 

Yes. 

KID 

Ah,  God  be  thanked.    Let's  pray. 


THE  STICK-UP 


PETE 

To  wot? 

KID 

To  God  in  Heaven. 

PETE 

Wot's  Heaven? 
KID 

Why  Heaven     ....... 

COWCATCHER  (moodily) 

Heaven's  for  the  livin',  not  the  dead. 
KID 

It's  a  lie.    Don't  scripture  tell    .    .    . 
PETE 

Say,  wot  you  got  agin  bein'  dead? 

(Kid  doesn't  answer;  his  eyes  are  following  some 
moving  object  in  the  distance.) 

KID 

Look!    What's  that? 
PETE  (peering) 

Somethin'  lit  up  strong. 

It's  plungin'  straight  our  way. 

Let's  put  our  ears  down  to  the  rails 

And  get  her  distance.    (He  does  so.) 
COWCATCHER  (laughing) 

We  ain't  on  earth,  old  blowfire. 

This  layout  here 

Is  twenty-six  points 

South  of  the  human  mind,  I  guess. 
PETE 

You  ain't  gone  nutty,  pardner? 

Wot  with  the  fog  and  firework  stars 

And  comets  trailin'  red-hot  whiskers  after  'em? 
16 


THE  STICK-UP 


KID 

Its  headin'  straight  this  way. 
What  is  it? 

COWCATCHER 

I  dunno. 

PETE 

Maybe  it's  a  star  with  a  souse. 
KID 
A  star? 

COWCATCHER 

A  star?    No,  I'll  be  blowed, 

It's  the  real  thing:  a  sizzlin'  comet. 
PETE 

With  whiskers? 
COWCATCHER  (wrapped  in  thought} 

Just  wait.     Suppose   ....   suppose. 

Why  not?    Why  not? 
PETE  (studying  Cowcatcher  s  face) 

What's  up,  Cowcatcher? 
KID 

Oh,  I'm  afraid. 
PETE 

Shut  up,  you  holy  toad. 

COWCATCHER 

We  got  to  try  it  anyway. 
It's  only  a  scheme, 
But  it  wouldn't  be  half  bad 
To  think  about  when  you  is  old, 
With  sleep  instead  of  blood 
Swimmin'  through  your  veins. 
PETE 
A  scheme!    (Kicking  Kid}    A  scheme! 


THE  STICK-UP 


COWCATCHER 

A  man  ain't  no  ways  dead,  Pete, 
If  he  can  just  keep  on 
A-spawnin'  schemes 
When  he  has  died. 

PETE 
A  big  one,  eh? 

COWCATCHER 

The  biggest  yet. 

You  know,  I  always  wanted  one  big  scoop 

With  a  sure  get-away. 

Not  for  the  swag  so  much 

But  just  to  finish  a  tough  job 

With  no  fag  ends  left  over, 

As  clean  as  writin'  with  no  blobs  on  it. 

It's  come  at  last! 

PETE 
Here?     Now? 

COWCATCHER 

I  thought  that  it'd  come 

In  my  life  time. 

Somethin'  was  there  that  waited 

Smarter  than  you  or  me.    .    .    . 

Somethin'  that  said  "Not  yet." 

PETE 

You  ain't  gone  bughouse,  pardner? 

The  fog  ain't  climbed  inside  your  nut? 
COWCATCHER  (in  earnest  low  tones] 

The  comet's  tearin'  straight  this  way. 

She  ain't  gonnta  stop.    Pete,  you  know  that. 
PETE 

Well,  wot  of  it? 

18 


THE  STICK-UP 


COWCATCHER  (clipping  his  words) 

We  got  to  make  her  stop. 

Kid,  Pete,  pals,  we've  hitched 

In  this  here  game  till  all  time 

Or  the  red  flacker  o'  Hell's  flames. 

You  and  me's  gone  through  a  lot, 

But  here's  our  biggest  haul  to  pull  yet: 

We're  going  to  hold  up  that  there  comet. 

Get  ready,  both,  stand  back    ...    no  time  to 

lose. 
KID  (aghast) 

My  God! 

PETE 

He's  outer  his  head. 
COWCATCHER  (quivering  with  emotion) 
Old  pals,  the  victories  we  tortures 
From  life  is  mean  and  picayune. 
Ah,  this  is  better! 
In  life  we  may  put  through 
A  deal  in  pigs  or  lambs, 
Or  play  the  red  one  day  and  win. 
But  then  we  always  loses  in  the  end, 
'Cause  there  is  somethin'  we  don't  see 
That  gathers  in  the  pot. 
And  if  we  sticks  up  trains 
As  we  has  done  these  many  years, 
The  sharp-nosed  bulls  trails  us  across  the  hills 
And  runs  us  down,  maybe,  outside 
The  border  bank  where  we  has  traded  swag 
For  greenbacks.     Life     .     .     .     life     .     .     bah! 
There  ain't  no  swollen  pots  in  life. 
A  man's  got  to  lose,  come  or  go; 
The  dice  is  always  loaded. 
There's  something  off-stage,  strange  and  still, 


THE  STICK-UP 


I  dunno  wot     ...     it  lurks  around  the  turn. 
The  kitty  wins. 

I  don't  want  money    .     .     .    never  wanted  it. 
Just  let  me  clean  my  job  up, 
Some  job  that  robs  the  sleep  from  out  your  eyes, 
That  shoots  up  easy  church-goin'  in  your  heart 
Unless  you  tackle  it  at  once. 
PETE 

Plumb  daffy! 

COWCATCHER 

Get  ready  now.     Crouch  low.     I'll  give   the 

signal. 

My  six-shooter    .    .    .    when  I  fire 
You  fall  afoul  of  her. 
You  fellows  got  to  yoke  it  now    .    .    . 
This  time  you  can't  afford  to  fail, 
Or  your  gray  ghosts  will  be  clean  riddled  through 
With  lead. 

(He   waves   his  gun   drunkenly,  Pete  and  Kid 
crouch^  afraid.    The  comet  is  heard  approaching^) 

PETE  (in  a  hoarse  whisper) 

She's  comin'  nearer. 
KID 

She's  giving  off  white  fire; 

We  won't  be  able  to  stand  it. 

COWCATCHER 

Get  ready  now. 
(The  roar  increases.) 

KID  (with  a  frightened  yell) 
We'll  be  destroyed!    We  shan't  do  it! 
I  tell  you  we  shan't  do  it.    Satan! 
20 


THE  STICK-UP 


(He  hurls  himself  at  Cowcatcher,  Cowcatcher 
extends  his  hand  and  stops  him.  He  seizes  him 
by  the  shirt  collar  and  dangles  him  cynically. 
At  last  he  releases  him.} 

COWCATCHER 

Muck! 

No  more  of  this. 

Pete,  get  your  tools  out. 

(The  roar  is  almost  upon  them.  The  atmosphere 
is  forked  by  sudden  flashes  of  blinding  light.) 

PETE  (hoarsely) 

All  right.    I'm  with  you,  pardner! 

COWCATCHER 

At  her!  (He  discharges  his  gun.)  Hold  tight! 
Hold  tight! 

(Kid  shrieks  hysterically.  A  swift  white  light 
floods  everything.  There  is  a  tremendous  swish, 
followed  by  stillness  and  utter  darkness.) 

KID  (unseen  in  the  dark) 
Oh!    Oh!    Where  are  we? 

Where  are  we?     Something  awful  must  have 
happened. 

PETE'S  VOICE 
Hell  at  last! 

Are  you  with  us,  Cowcatcher.     (Pause) 
Speak  up    ...    speak  up,  if  you  are  with  us. 

(Pause) 
(Almost  sobbing)     Wot  would  we  do  and  you 

not  with  us? 
Cowcatcher? 

21 


THE  STICK-UP 


COWCATCHER  (in  a  thin  far-away  voice) 

Hold  tight!    Hold  tight!    We're  aboard  her. 

KID 
Thank  God,  he's  with  us  yet.     (Sobs  brokenly.} 

(A  pale,  doubtful  light  begins.  It  is  but  a  faint 
suggestion  of  daylight,  but  it  grows  increasingly 
brighter  and  resolves  itself  into  an  intense  sap 
phire  blue.  Then  a  hint  of  crimson  and  yellow 
and  gold. 

Cowcatcher  is  discovered  lying  face  downward 
at  the  foot  of  a  tree,  his  arms  flung  tightly  about 
the  trunk.  As  daylight  comes  on,  he  turns  slowly 
and  looks  up  dazed.  Pete  is  lying  supine,  a 
little  to  the  right.  He  is  mechanically  clutching 
the  grass  and  digging  up  sods  with  outstretched 
hands.  Kid  is  curled  up  ...  a  little  forward 
.  .  .  in  what  appears  almost  an  unhuman  ball. 
In  the  soft  background  a  wheatfield  is  gradually 
becoming  visible,  bickering  in  the  wind  of  dawn. 
The  sun  is  rising.) 

COWCATCHER  (dazed) 

I  dunno    ...    is  this  a  tree? 
PETE  (lifting  his  head  with  apparent  difficulty) 

Wheat!    Wheat!    Flower  smells   .    .    .    (extend 
ing  his  hands) 

The  feel  o'  dew  on  the  young  grass! 

My  God,  I  didn't  know  how  much 

I  itched  to  lay  my  hands  on  earthy  things! 
KID  (whining,  not  daring  to  look  up) 

Where    .    .    .    where  are  we? 
PETE 

Look!    Look!    It's  sun-up,  as  I  live. 

It's  flame-born,  gloryin'  sun-up! 

22 


THE  STICK-UP 


COWCATCHER  (bewildered} 

Tree    .    .    .    wheat    .    .    .    sun-up! 

Wot's  it  all  mean? 
PETE 

Wot  does  it  mean  ?   Why  this  ...  is  ...  is  .. 

COWCATCHER 

Wot? 
PETE  (in  an  awed  whisper] 

Earth! 
KID  (lifting  his  head  for  the  first  time,  puzzled} 

Earth? 

PETE 

Old  sufferin'  earth.    It's  earth,  I  tell  you. 
KID 

Pete,  you    .    .    .    you  don't  mean  it. 

You're  not  just  kiddin'  me 

As  you  have  always  done    .     .     .     (Pleading) 

Pete    .    .    .    Pete! 
PETE  (with  emphasis} 

We's  landed  home. 
COWCATCHER  (dimly  realizing  it} 

Home!    Home! 
PETE 

That  somethin'  off-stage,  you  was  speakin'  of 

A  while  back,  in  that  shiverin',  empty  place  .  .  . 

That  somethin'  was  smarter 

Than  you  or  me,  all  right. 

It  looks  as  if  we'd  held  up  earth. 

We  didn't  mean  to,  I  know, 

But  here  we  are:  you,  me,  and  Kid, 

Swirlin'  through  space  on  our  birthplace  star. 

COWCATCHER 

It  was  our  biggest  chance 
This  side  millennium. 

23 


THE  STICK-UP 


PETE 

It  was  our  biggest  chance,  you  bet; 
But  here's  the  smooth  green  touch  of  summer 
grass. 

COWCATCHER 

The  wind  is  sharp. 
PETE 

The  uptake  of  a  human  day  is  in  it,  pardner. 
COWCATCHER  (bitterly) 

I  don't  want  human  days, 

For  what  are  human  days  to  me? 

I'm  tired  of  peddlin'  little  jobs 

I  want  to  hold  up  worlds! 

(Sadly)  That's  the  teasin'  way  of  it: 

It  holds  sky-wingin'  will-o-the-wisps 

Before  your  eyes,  then  yanks  'em  straight  away. 

So  wot  you  sees, 

And  wot  you  don't  see, 

Is  nothin'  but  a  blind. 
KID  (on  his  knees) 

Cowcatcher,  we're  saved! 

To  live,  to  be  alive.    .    .    . 

Why,  that's  the  same  as  being  saved. 
COWCATCHER  (rising  slowly) 

Wot's  your  religion,  Kid? 

Wot's  your  wild  hunger  to  touch  things,  Pete, 

Alongside  the  dream  I  dreamed! 

CURTAIN 


Stewart  Kidd  Plays 

THE  PROVINCETOWN  PLAYS 

Edited  by  GEORGE  CRAM  COOK  and  FRANK  SHAY 
With  a  foreword  by  HUTCHINS  HAPGOOD 

Containing  the  ten  best  plays  produced  by  the  Province- 
town  Players,  which  are: 

"SUPPRESSED  DESIRES",  George  Cram  Cook  and  SusanGlaspell. 

"ARIA  DA  CAPO".  Edna  St.  Vincent  Millay. 

"COCAINE",  Pendleton  King. 

"NIGHT",  James  Oppenheim. 

"ENEMIES",  Hutchins  Hapgood  and  Neith  Boyce. 

"THE  ANGEL  INTRUDES".  Floyd  Dell. 

"BOUND  EAST  FOR  CARDIFF",  Eugene  O'Neill. 

"THE  WIDOWS  VEIL",  Alice  Rostetter. 

"STRING  OF  THE  SAMISEN".  Rita  Wellman. 

"NOT  SMART".  Wilbur  D.  Steele. 

Every  author,  with  one  exception,  has  a  book  or  more  to  his  credit. 
Several  are  at  the  top  of  their  profession. 

Rita  Wellman,  a  Saturday  Evening  Post  star,  has  had  two  or  three 
plays  on  Broadway,  and  has  a  new  novel,  "The  Wings  of  Desire." 
Cook  and  Glaspell  are  well  known — he  for  his  novels,  and  Miss 
Glaswell  for  novels  and  plays. 

Edna  Millay  is  one  of  America's  best  poets.    Steele,  according  to 
O'Brien,  is  America's  best  short-story  writer. 
Oppenheim  has  over  a  dozen  novels,  books  of  poems,  and  essays  to 
his  credit. 

O'Neill  has  a  play  on  Broadway  now:    "The  Emperor  Jones." 
Hutch.  Hapgood  is  an  author  of  note.    A  record  of  the  work  of  the 
most  serious  and  important  of  all  the  new  theatre  movements  in 
America. 
New  York  Sun:    "Tense  and  vivid  little  dramas." 

Dallas  News:  "Uniform  in  excellence  of  workmanship,  varied  in  sub 
ject  matter — the  volume  is  a  distinct  contribution  to  American  dra 
matic  art. 

i2mo.    Net,  $2.$o 


Send  for  Complete  Dramatic  Catalogue 

STEWART  KIDD  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  CINCINNATI,  U.  S.  A. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


. 

<W*«WI 


Form  L9-75m-7,'61(Cl437s4)444 

SWEET  AND  TWENTY .  .Floyd  Dell  .50 

Two  SLATTERNS  AND  A  KING Edna  St.  Vincent  Millay  JO 

SIR  DAVID  WEARS  A  CROWN Stuart  Walker  .50 

THURSDAY  EVENING Christopher  Morley  .50 

MIRAGE George  M.  P.  Baird  .50 

LITHUANIA J..H.K-  -LIKK- \-K-V Rupert  Brooke  .50 

THE  STICK-UP Pierre  Loving  .50 

SCRAMBLED  EGGS Mackall  &  Bellamy  .50 

At  ore  to  follow. 


